What I've Tasted of Desire
by mistrali
Summary: Frostpine tries to convince Kol to get together with Matazi.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: Written for KrisEleven for Glake's Strangelove 2012.

'Tokeke' is my made-up pre-series name for Frostpine.

I figured younger!Frostpine was sort of the flirtatious, devil-may-care, extroverted type at uni.

I estimate Frostpine's age as late thirties to early forties in MitW, making him born anywhere from 996 to 1000 K.F. For the purposes of this fic, the year of his birth is 998, making him 21 years old in 1019.

**What I've Tasted of Desire **

__1019 K.F., Pine Tree Dormitory, Olart University, Olart__

"You've got your eye on her," said Tokeke knowingly, as he helped Kol stumble into their room after a good few cups of ale.

Kol blinked and grabbed the bedpost when Tokeke released his arm. His head was no longer spinning, Vrohain be thanked, which meant the potion against the effects of alcohol was already starting to work - it was worth the four silvers, he thought hazily. "I only met her for twenty minutes, Toke. It was just a few kisses," he said, and gulped one or two mouthfuls of cold ginseng tea from Tokeke's flask to dull the potion's taste.

"Not that grey-eyed Hataran girl, you idiot, I meant Matazidah," murmured Tokeke, sprawled so that his muscled arms and torso were shown off to great effect. Kol's breath quickened, and he wondered if Tokeke was conscious of the way he was lying there, with his skin glistening in the firelight. From the tiny smirk on his face, Kol was willing to bet that Tokeke, ever-observant when it came to the effect he had on people, had noticed Kol's trembling hands and his hoarse, ragged breaths as his friend removed tunic and undershirt in preparation for sleep. The smith-mage extinguished the hearth down to embers, for which Kol was grateful: his body felt hot enough, and if the fire was lit Tokeke would see his flush, and laugh with gentle mockery at how easily northeners turned red.

He, too, stripped off to his loincloth and crawled into bed beside Tokeke. He could have taken the other bed, of course, but his friend had looked so inviting; besides, why move when it was so comfortable and restful here?

"It's only been a month between you and her," said Kol. He could not think why, unless there were two girls named Matazidah at Olart University, Tokeke should want Kol to take up with his new lover.

"Oh, I just thought three was better than one - or two," Tokeke added in a tone that made goosebumps rise on Kol's arms.

"Just because we're friends who get into bed occasionally, you don't need to involve her."

Tokeke smiled broadly. "You Namornese merchants don't know how to enjoy the moment. Relax a little, Kol. Your Qunoc will be waiting for you."

"I don't want a Qunoc, I want a wife," protested Kol. Tokeke silenced him with a long kiss, and when they broke apart, breathless and half-laughing, Kol had forgotten whatever he'd wanted to say in the curve of Tokeke's brown arms, and the dark eyes that were bright enough sometimes, as now with the lantern shining on them, to remind Kol of flecks of metal. He realised he wasn't remotely sleepy anymore; his heart was thudding, and his pulse beat in his ears. He smiled at Tokeke and leaned in for another slow kiss, wondering if he was still tipsy. The few times they'd done this before, it had been rushed, the urgency of hot breath and tangled legs spurring them on till they lay sated and sleepy in bed or on the floor. This, this was Kol's way, slow and solid as the forge after its flame had begun to burn steadily.

Matazi entered the room, dressed in an overgown of gold and dark red that looked striking against her brown skin; a small necklace with a pearl pendant, kohl and gold eyelid paint completed the outfit.

"I'm Matazidah Yoriain, and you must be Toke's roommate," she said, clasping one palm in another in the Bihanese manner of greeting. "You're a silversmith, aren't you?"

"Gold," said Kol, and they lost a few minutes to chatting about their families' respective trades. Kol gave his true name, but pretended to be from some small moneylender's set-up out in east Namorn, so she wouldn't ask him why a son of the second-in-command of the Goldsmiths' Guild lived like a poor student. The truth was that he'd wanted to go abroad and study, and although Olart was not a top-tier university like Lightsbridge, it was respectable enough not to bring disgrace to his family.

"I think Toke's buying tickets for your outing tonight; he won't be back for twenty minutes or so. Why don't you... why don't you sit down?" He gestured with some embarrassment to the cheap wooden desk chair.

"Thanks," she said pleasantly, accepting the seat. At first she talked a little breathlessly about current actors and fashions, topics which might as well have been in Mbauan as far as Kol was concerned, to cover the awkward silence. But the conversation soon turned friendly as they discovered a mutual love of books. Kol had always been fascinated by Tharios, a country she dearly wanted to visit, and he told her what he knew of the wildlife and attractions there. For her part, she was a passionate student of law, and planned to rise to the Bihanese Council's legal chamber. Kol found it refreshing to talk to her, discovering to his considerable surprise that she enjoyed spinning.

"It relaxes me," she explained in her musical voice, "though my sisters say I should've given it- oh, for Bairan's sake, look at the time! The play begins at eight, Toke! I told him not to be late."

Tokeke ran into the room, already dressed, and wrenched a wet comb through his coarse medium-length hair. He glared at Matazi as though he would snap at her, then thought better of it when he remembered the time.

"Thank you for the conversation," said Matazi, kissing Kol quickly on the cheek. Before he could collect his wits, she took her lover's hand and rushed out in a flurry of scent, cotton broadcloth and skirts, leaving Kol to touch the spot where her lips had met his skin. He wondered a little giddily about Tokeke's offer of a three-way session in bed, and lost himself in fantasy.

"Where's Matazi?" asked Kol, when Tokeke turned out to the summer ball in his coral-orange evening robes and best dancing shoes, but with no resplendent girl beside him.

Tokeke shrugged. "Oh, she dumped me. She said I lacked commitment - I can't imagine why."

Kol rolled his eyes - Tokeke was notorious for flirting with any woman within ten minutes of knowing her - but he was not fooled by his friend's nonchalance.

"You dumped her so I could court her?" said Kol wonderingly, when he was told. "Why?"

He knew he would have been more selfish than Tokeke had been, even for a best friend's sake. His mother and father, both merchants, had taught him to grab any opportunity with both hands.

"I told you, she needed someone she could settle down with," explained Tokeke as they took their places in a circle for the cornfield dance. "I do so hate settling. It's much more fun to have a night here and there, with no promises made. Besides, you two seemed to get along. With me and her, it was equal parts arguing and kissing. Now you two can marry, make love, give me four gold majas for my generosity, buy a beautiful house, and have six children, not necessarily in that order."

Then the musicians began to play in earnest, and Kol had no more time for reflection as hands grabbed his and he was whisked around the room to the tune of pipes and viols.


	2. Chapter 2

__1027 K.F. - The common room of the Fire temple, Winding Circle Temple, Emelan__

Reunion

"Congratulations," said Tokeke heartily, hugging his old friend. "I always said you two made the perfect couple. Now, when and where do you two lovebirds take your vows?" he asked, with a wink.

"In Trigani, close to where my parents live, on the fourteenth of Wort Moon. Grantein bless it, man, you'd better come. I don't care how cold it gets," he said warningly.

"And any time you want to visit us, Toke, you're welcome in our home," said Matazi, with genuine warmth in her deep voice.

"Come when it thaws in the summer," suggested Kol. "We'll have plenty of fur blankets and an extra-large hearth ready for you. After all, you're the one who got us here." He smiled at Matazi, and she squeezed his fingers. "I know you're going for a dedicate, but anything you want, just ask, truly. And if you ever need someone to talk to, send word and we'll come and haul you out of this place."

Toke shook his head. "Now that you mention it, I wouldn't mind new robes," he joked, grinning and gesturing to his soot-streaked red ones, much the worse for wear. "But I'm happy at Winding Circle. I'm for my dedication in seven months, so I'll finally move from my dormitory to my own forge in the Fire Temple, complete with loft and apprentice." He sighed wistfully. "Until then, I've been working away at things for the cooks and metalworkers here."

Kol noticed how peaceful Tokeke looked. He no longer played the clowning cad with self-conscious, aggressive cheer, as if he had to prove himself. The boy from their Olart days had almost melted away.

"And your magic's... all right?" asked Kol quietly.

"Thank Shurri and Hakkoi of the Forge," replied Tokeke, making the gods-circle on his chest. "I'm working with my magic now, really learning to harness it; it's like a fifth limb. I thought I knew control before, but when I came here, I felt like I'd been using a quarter of what I had. At least I'm not making hundreds of iron rods anymore."

He chuckled at Matazi's mystified expression. "Sorry. I'm so used to mages here, I forget not everyone knows what I'm blathering on about. Generally people stop me after twenty minutes or so, when their ears have fallen off. And then they proceed to box mine."


End file.
